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An Ugly Haircut

I went to the hairdresser today.
I said, “Cut it shorter, okay?”
So she went snip-snipping
Until my hair covered the chair.
When she was done,
Her scissors had won
The battle with my hair.

I looked in the mirror, I looked once more.
My lovely hair covered the floor.
I kept the tears from drip-dripping
As I blew my hair out of my face.
There was no turning back.
My hair was all whack!
And the hairdresser gone without a trace.

My confidence gone,
I could barely move on.
Down the street I kept trip-tripping,
Hiding my face from their stares.
I would have to wear a hat,
For the next five weeks, at that!
It was the truth; everyone cares.

A brush and a comb—my weapons of choice.
“I’ll fix it,” I growled in a low voice.
Even with all that rip-ripping,
My hair wouldn’t fall into place.
I threw up my arms in defeat.
Everything seemed utterly offbeat.
One more ugly haircut on the head of the human race.

I gave up on primping and stepped in the shower.
I soaked up the water’s healing power.
I stumbled out, almost slip-slipping,
In my shock at what I saw.
I studied my wayward reflection.
My hair stuck up in every direction!
So I let out a hearty guffaw.

Who the hell cares how my hair behaves?
If it sticks up in spikes or falls in nice waves?
So I threw my head back, flip-flipping.
My hair was a crazy-a** mess.
But no, I didn’t mind this new look!
My insecurities shattered and shook.
And when I went outside, I knew I looked my best.

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